


Decadent Diplomacy

by Artemis_Dreamer



Series: Squishy MegOp [10]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Dessert & Sweets, Drabble, Fat Robots, Fluff, Food/Feeding Kink, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post War, Weight Gain, belly stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9491003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Dreamer/pseuds/Artemis_Dreamer
Summary: "Among the Mendevian people, the lowering of inhibitions indicates mutual trust," she explained, her voice relived. "We had begun to fear that something was amiss."---In which Megatron prevents an intergalactic incident. Somehow.





	

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This is a work of fetish fiction, involving belly stuffing, unhealthy eating, and implied weight gain.
> 
> Don't like, don't read.

Since the war had ended, the Cybertronians were rebuilding not only their own infrastructure, but also the relations between their planet and their galactic neighbours. 

This necessitated countless meetings between the leaders of Cybertron and the leaders of many alien races. Tonight was one such meeting. A bilateral trade agreement was to be ratified, and a celebration banquet was to be held. 

Optimus Prime had been immediately apprehensive when the leaders of Mendev had requested such formal arrangements. Megatron and banquets had already proven to be a disastrous combination. However, the Mendevians had been insistent, and his conjunx had grudgingly agreed to be on his best behaviour. 

Optimus had to give the warlord credit where it was due - throughout the banquet so far, Megatron had restrained himself, in terms of both consumption and vulgarity. The Prime was grateful for it. His conjunx's brash mannerisms were considerably more tolerable when not interspersed with creative epithets, and even more tolerable when not spoken through a mouthful of fuel.

For once, it looked like Megatron wasn't going to start an intergalactic incident. That is, until a Vehicon made his way over to the leaders' table, bearing a tray laden down with a massive blueberry torte - their dessert.

All terrified professionalism, the Vehicon served a slice to each of the assembled dignitaries in turn. He looked to be about a klik away from having a nervous meltdown. 

The Vehicon presented a slice to the warlord. His only response was a vicious glare. Servos trembling, the unfortunate mech retracted the inadequate slice, replacing it with a much more generous portion. The warlord nodded. The Vehicon placed the remainder of the torte in the centre of the table, bowed, and promptly fled.

Optimus resisted the urge to roll his optics. Megatron may no longer have ruled the Decepticons with an iron fist, but the Vehicons and Eradicons were still terrified of him, and Megatron slag well knew it.

The warlord promptly dug his fork into the cake, raising an obscenely large bite to his lipplates and devouring it without hesitation. He moaned, quite literally moaned, as the rich flavour of the dessert flooded his sensornet. 

Optimus wasn't sure if the sudden rush of heat through his frame was from embarrassment, arousal, or some combination of the two. In that moment it was painfully clear that Megatron had lost any semblance of self-control. 

The tyrant raised another forkful of cake to his lipplates, and then another still, until he was practically shoveling the dessert into his greedy maw. 

Somemech must have unwisely allowed Soundwave to help with the preparations. The spymaster's cooking could tear down the inhibitions of nearly anymech online, no matter how disciplined, and Megatron was far from disciplined.

Optimus could barely bring himself to look across the table, terrified of the reaction the diplomats might have. Best behaviour, his hind pede. 

Thankfully, the Mendevian ambassadors didn't seem offended. In fact, they seemed rather pleased with the development. The two male ambassadors immediately tore into their own helpings of dessert, while the third, a female, smiled gratefully at the Prime.

"Among the Mendevian people, the lowering of inhibitions indicates mutual trust," she explained, her voice relived. "We had begun to fear that something was amiss."

Optimus was stunned, quite nearly speechless. "There are clearly some differences between our cultures," he managed at last. How in Primus's name had his conjunx's rampant gluttony actually prevented an intergalactic incident?

Still smiling, the female ambassador promptly joined her comrades in devouring the torte. 

Megatron met the Prime's wide and disbelieving optics with a broad smirk on his blueberry-smeared lipplates. Smug fragger. Optimus honestly had no way of knowing whether the warlord's actions had been intentional, and chances were that he never would.

All that he could do was sit back and enjoy the spectacle - sit back and watch his conjunx gorge himself until his vast hunger had been properly sated. 

After all, Optimus was still a Prime, the dignified leader of the Cybertronian people. It wouldn't be right for him to indulge so vulgarly. Still, in the name of diplomacy, a bite or two couldn't hurt. It would only be -

Oh Primus, this was the best thing he'd ever tasted. Propriety be damned - there was no force in the known universe that could keep him from stuffing his faceplates. 

In his last moments of clarity, Optimus signalled to one of the attending vehicons to bring out another torte. No, better make that two more tortes. Or better yet, all of the torte that the kitchen had made. 

Political machinations were far more pleasant when one's tanks were achingly overfilled.

The ambassadors made the mistake of attempting to keep up with the pace of Megatron's rampant gorging - all three quickly reached their limits, and promptly slumped over where they sat, nursing their painfully swollen stomachs.

The warlord merely grinned, showing far too many dentae, and continued to devour mouthful after mouthful of the impossibly delicious dessert. Optimus rolled his optics with fond exasperation. Megatron’s tanks had to be nearly bursting by now - he was clearly far past the point of fullness – but he hadn’t so much as slowed his pace.

It wasn’t particularly surprising. His conjunx took immense pride in his insatiable appetite. 

If Megatron was so insistent on showing off for their foreign delegates, Optimus knew that it was likely in his best interests to indulge more heavily as well. His tanks already ached, but he had a reputation to preserve.

Just a few more bites wouldn’t hurt. Much.

By the time that the celebrations had ended and the last of the torte had been devoured, one thing was agonizingly clear. Cybertronian and Mendevian alike, they’d all eaten far, far too much. 

For the sake of intergalactic relations, the pain was well worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Is Megatron a political genius, or just an incurable glutton? I'm honestly not sure.
> 
> Any and all feedback is appreciated.


End file.
